


The Pope's Bodyguard

by sceeety



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 13:01:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21636217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sceeety/pseuds/sceeety
Summary: Izaya is on a break from his evil informant ways and is in hiding as a monk in Vatican city and happens to fall hard for the Pope's sexy man in black.Please leave all your expectations here.
Relationships: Heiwajima Shizuo & Orihara Izaya, Heiwajima Shizuo/Orihara Izaya
Comments: 12
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah I'm doing Shizaya now... I love anyone that reads this because this idea came to me when i was browsing the old DRRR!kink live journal and I've been willing myself to write something ever since...

_ Vatican City: Mater Ecclesiae Monastery:  _

Izaya sat kneeling upon the large chapel floor, in line with the thirty or so other monks, dressed in modest black robes; their hoods completely up, shrouding each of their faces in darkness as they prayed; hands clasped at the front, heads bowed.

It was utterly silent, the only sound the occasional  _ tweet tweet _ of a bird as it flew over the roof of the chapel. 

Izaya loved the golden ring of silence: it was mesmerizing to him. He sneaked a look at the stained glass to his left, the rays refracting as they shone through the image of the virgin Mary, creating a spotlight on the hunched backs of a few monks next to him; each ray appearing as a streak of liquid heaven.

The sunset hour was rapidly approaching and it was the custom for the monks to pray at this time, basking in the glow. 

Izaya loved the monks so much; loved their customs and their simple clothes and how each and everyone of them had given up the hubbub of the world outside Vatican City to devote their lives entirely to God. Yes, he really loved them.

Suddenly, dread pooled in his stomach. He felt the tickle of a sneeze coming.

_ For God’s sake. _

Izaya began to panic as he began taking sharp breaths in and pinching his outer thigh inside his robes as tightly as he could to suppress it, focusing on cutting off the circulation rather than the hell-fire that could shoot any second now- 

‘ _ ACHOOOO-’ _

By some divine intervention, the loud noise was masked by the even louder sound of the Chapel’s large, oak double doors swinging open behind him and he almost thanked God.  _ Almost. _

The sea of hooded faces all simultaneously turned to see who had walked in, and so did Izaya. There was a blur of red and gold as the resident Cardinal, the surveyor of all the goings on at Mater Ecclesiae glided through the door, his heavy footsteps smacking against the cold stone floor rapidly as he did so. The Cardinal’s extensive rouge robes billowed out on each side. Reminding Izaya of a phoenix, as he walked straight past the pews, up to the large square of empty stone where all of the monks were now humbly kneeling and stopped in front of them.

‘Rise brothers.’ 

The Cardinal’s deep voice crackled, as he extended his arms, palms out. 

Izaya sensed the awe and intimidation amongst the others as he too stood up from his kneeling position to face the Cardinal. He wasn’t afraid like the rest, only intrigued as the great figure in red only ever interrupted their prayers under interesting circumstances. 

The snowy haired Cardinal surveyed the monks, his golden-brown eyes stern.

‘Tomorrow, we will host his Holiness the Supreme Pontiff at our monastery as he wishes to rest here for a fortnight. I will ask of you that a room shall be prepared for him tomorrow morning and that there is a meal planned. Bless you, dear brothers.’ He spoke, his voice echoing around the Chapel. The monk at the front bowed in acknowledgment and the Cardinal swivelled around, satisfied with the encounter, leaving through the heavy doors, allowing them to slam behind him. 

The noise echoed around the Chapel and Izaya was unaware of the fact that the other monks were steadily filing out one by one through the slim, barely noticeable side door that led to the shelter walkway beyond. He was too busy thinking about the arrival of the Pope. 

‘This might be my one and only chance...’ he thought. 

Izaya loved humanity, although he detested all of the significant figures that were a part of it. He just couldn’t stand the idea that some people were above others for such insignificant reasons too. The Pope, in Izaya’s mind was a dumb concept:

‘How could it ever be proven that someone who is elected by others is the “direct descendant of St Paul” anyway?’ Izaya often mused during prayer time. And now here he was, coming to the very monastery that he lived in; sleeping under the same roof as Izaya in close enough proximity with no suspicions whatsoever…

It was just too tempting to  _ not _ kill the Servant of God’s servants.

The perfect time too:

One, the Pope was coming here as a retreat, to get away from it all and centre in on his own connection to God, or whatever, so he would have no outsiders to be suspicious of. Two, he could probably jimmy it so that he was working on the food, slipping something into the Pope’s dinner really wouldn’t be all that difficult. Three, no one would ever find out it was him...

Izaya suddenly became aware of the fact that he was standing alone in the Chapel, the sound of the creaking door ringing out across the emptiness.. He looked up towards the large mural of cherubs and archangels looking up with painted halos around their heads and stuck out his middle finger. 

‘God, schmod.’ he said curtly before hurrying through the large doors, and across to the courtyard, hearing the loud  _ boom _ as they slammed behind him. 

*

Izaya silently joined the other monks for their sunset reflection in the courtyard and felt his mind still as he basked in the fleeting amber glow that descended perfectly between carved arches of the Mater Ecclesiae’s entry. 

The sunset reflection was one of the few times that Izaya actually followed the customs of the monks, although instead of reflecting on how God had made their day better in some way as he was meant to, he instead reflected on his life before becoming a monk, how he had been a part of the constant flow of information around the city of Milan and the gangs that fought there. He had to admit, he missed it a little but the anonymity of the monk life was better than he could’ve ever imagined. Here, no one knew him and he could simply  _ be _ without any kind of disturbance. 

Izaya knew that there would come a time where his old life would creep up on him and he would be forced to return to the precarious lifestyle of an information broker and all the baggage he had metaphorically put into storage would be returned to him.

But until that time came, he could live the shrouded existence of a Catholic monk, hidden by the walls of Vatican City.

The sun reached its final arch and then the sky was encased by the inky blue-black of the night, the stars twinkling above the small group of cloaked faces. 

Izaya led the way back to the dortoir where each of the monks went through their own small wooden doors and into their cells. He knew that they were all wondering about the same thing, although he was unable to see their faces under the large cloaks. 

Despite that Izaya had barely caught more than a glimpse of any of the faces of the other thirty monks residing at the monastery and the fact that they were all forbidden to speak as part of their ‘vow of silence’, Izaya liked to think that he could tell exactly what the other monks were thinking and right now it was the presence of the Pope that hung thick in the air.

He pushed the door to his cell open.His was larger than the others’ with two mattresses instead of one, as Izaya had stolen one from a spare cell when the Cardinal’s back was turned. He needed at least  _ some _ comfort inside that dingy little place. Behind the bed was a window that Izaya covered with a wooden blind before removing his robes, allowing the cool air to rush over his naked body as they dropped to the floor, pooling at his feet in a heavy pile. 

Izaya dived into the softness of the stacked mattresses and pulled the simple blanket around him. As he snuggled down against his pillow, he smiled at the thought of the Pope dying in various ways and how fun the next two weeks were going to be compared to the rest of his quiet year at the Mater Ecclesiae monastery…

*

Little did Izaya know that as he slept, the bodyguard of the Pope was packing his bag with spare white shirts and black suit jackets accompanied with matching trousers in preparation for the trip that was to follow. 

He tutted at the stain of dried blood on some of them that had never come out, remembering the times exactly when thugs or crazed atheist knife wielders had tried to take the life of the man who he respected so highly, although he would never care to admit it to anyone, and in return they had ended up as bloody messes on the holy Vatican city pavement. 

He turned quickly as he heard the creak of the door to his bedroom open behind him, his first balling in instinct. He instantly stood up and bowed at the presence of the figure in white robes who glided into the room. 

‘All packed for tomorrow, Shizuo?’ The Pope smiled kindly as he gestured with one long white sleeve to the bag on the floor. 

‘Yes, Holy father.’ The tall blonde bodyguard towered over the snowy haired man but still the Pope shone with authority.

‘I'm sure that you will find peace at the Mater Ecclesiae, it is my personal favorite monastery after all and by far one of the most beautiful. You can see the whole of Vatican city from the top of that hill.’ 

Shizuo listened, entranced to the soft voice. He loved when the Pope told stories, he had an incredible way with words that allowed Shizuo’s small imagination to picture the scene perfectly. 

The Pope continued, ‘One of the main reasons that I am retreating now in this critical time of political turmoil is for the sunset. Did you know that the monks of the Mater Ecclesiae are said to have the most healthy skin on Earth because the sunset at the monastery has healing powers?’ Shizuo shook his head in awe.

‘Aghh, well my child, you shall experience this for yourself tomorrow, goodnight Shizuo.’ The man smiled before turning and silently walking away down the stone corridor. 

‘Goodnight, Father.’ 

Shizuo returned to packing, imagining with joy the sunset over the monastery that was awaiting him...


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy the lesson on the various buildings in a monastery!
> 
> Izaya and Shizuo meet in this one...

Izaya woke up to the steady stream of sunlight penetrating through the gaps in the wooden slats of the blind, his eyes barely given time to adjust to the brightness before a series of loud knocks caused him to sit bolt upright. 

The wooden door to his cell wobbled a little as it was hit. Quickly fumbling for his robes that were strewn discarded across the floor, Izaya pulled the heavy black cloth around his lithe frame, whipping up the hood before making his way over to the door. He yanked it open.

Standing there was the Cardinal, his eyes looking bleary from sleep deprivation but nevertheless, the red robes still gave him a look of severe authority. 

‘Brother Izaya, good morning.’ The Cardinal’s voice cracked from misuse overnight. 

Izaya bowed low.

‘I have decided that you shall be the one to prepare the bedroom for the Holy Father and his accompaniment. Please make sure that this is done before his arrival this afternoon. You are excused from repairing the arches in the southern cloisters to do so.’ The Cardinal continued. 

Izaya couldn’t believe his luck. Now was the prime opportunity to lace the room with poison or something (he hadn’t thought of the specifics). It would be far too easy to kill the Pope for the hell of it, and on the first night he was here too! 

He bowed low to the Cardinal again and watched as the figure in red turned and walked away down the cloisters, stopping to knock at another door. Izaya shut the door and turned to grab his small washcloth and bar of soap and headed out across the courtyard to the cold balneary. His feet were freezing against the stone as he slipped off his sandals. It was a little before seven according to the clock on the wall so most of the monks were not even up yet, leaving him alone with the sound of running water. 

The balneary was a large room filled with sinks aligning every space along the walls, neatly lined up with a mirror above every fourth sink. The centre was split into two large pools of water that in the evenings, were heated to allow the monks to bathe, the floors of each ornately decorated with mosaics that could be seen through the crystal clear water. 

Izaya walked over to the nearest sink, wincing a little as the cold stone numbed his toes. He turned the rusty tap and plugged the sink, pulling down the black hood to gaze at himself in the small mirror. Ever since coming to the monastery, Izaya had noticed the amount of imperfections on his skin decrease dramatically day by day, and now he touched at his face lightly, feeling the smoothness beneath his fingertips. 

The dark crimson eyes opposite him glinted and he traced the corners of his mouth and felt the place where bags used to be, only to be met with even, lily-white skin. 

‘God i’m gorgeous…’ thought Izaya, smiling at his own reflection before turning off the tap, heaving in a deep breath until his lungs felt as if they were going to burst, and plunging his face into the overflowing icy cold pool, feeling his robes dampen flat against his thighs as the water spilled over the edges of the sink and onto the floor. He closed his eyes and allowed the stillness to muffle around him. 

‘So, how to kill the old fool…’ Izaya muttered into the water, bubbles tickling his ears as he did so. He liked it like this: The knowledge that either he was going to think of an answer or drown. 

His mind raced, ‘Everything starts with the Bible so let’s think. God, Jesus, Mary, Mary Magdalene, beauty, Linda, Bella-’

Izaya pulled himself sharply out of the water, just before he felt his lungs about to burst.

‘ _ BELLADONNA!’  _

The echo rang out around the stone, along with the sound of splashing as the droplets of water scattered onto the floor and Izaya scrubbed soap across his hands, grinning from ear to ear as he remembered Shinra’s voice as he read from an encyclopedia back in his old apartment in Milan. 

‘ _ Atropa Belladonna  _ AKA, Deadly Nightshade. A plant native to Italy, it’s berries are known to kill with one bite.’ 

Izaya plunged his face quickly back into the water and felt the suds of harsh soap wash off, leaving his face clean before hitching the plug out of its place in the sink and padding his face dry with the washcloth. 

*

The rest of the day dragged on, the monks following their usual routine with added polishing of certain more visible parts of the Mater Ecclesiae. Izaya was anxious to move, constantly pricking his finger as he sat with part of the thirty metre tapestry that he had somehow been roped into mending, along with five other monks, quickly sewing away at other points of the long cloth. 

He only had an hour until the Pope arrived and he still needed to make up the bedroom. He had successfully acquired the deadly nightshade from the nearby forest and now had it secured inside in a little glass vial that used to hold thyme for cooking, which was now held deep in the folds of his robes. 

‘OUCH.’ Izaya screamed internally as he yet agained rammed the needle into the pad of is finger. He wasn’t cut out for sewing. 

He watched as another half an hour was wasted away before standing up hastily and hoping that the Cardinal would forgive his rushed work. He bowed to the remaining hooded monks before speed-walking out of the room. 

Izaya broke into a jog which turned into a run when he reached the cloisters and very soon he was sprinting at full speed; up the external stairs and into the Paupal bedroom in the West-Wing of the monastery. He flung open the door and then the door of the large cupboard where the matching duvet cover and pillowcase, delicately embroidered with gold leaf were laying.

Izaya yanked them out, stuffing the duvet into the duvet cover and laying it out on the bed with a  _ woosh _ as he flicked it high above his head, neatening the corners crisply after.

He then turned to the pillows. Izay’s plan was to cover them both in Nightshade and then replace the pillowcases on top of them.

The Pope would go soundlessly in the night…

He clambered up onto the bed on all fours, carefully covering his skin with the long sleeves of his robes and uncapped the vial, his hand quivering a little as he hovered above the pillow. Izaya’s heart was pounding in his ears, a gormless grin on his face flashing all of his white teeth as he watched the beauty of the night, Belladonna almost drop onto-

‘What are you doing?’

Izaya’s blood froze as he heard the gruff voice. 

He had to think quickly and willed himself to place the cap on the vial, as naturally as he possibly could and slip it back inside his robes. He sat back on his knees and turned to face the source of the words. 

What greeted him was a very tall man dressed in a black suit, his eyes tinted by the purple lenses of his glasses. Izaya couldn’t help but stare at the contrast between the dark eyes and light blonde hair that melded together to form the perfect combination. He reached for the pillowcase and began to stuff the pillow inside it but was stopped but an iron grip on his wrist.

‘I said, what are-’

‘I was adorning the Holy Father’s pillow with incense as requested by Cardinal Lucas.’ Izaya responded calmly despite the blood pounding in his ears, both from the horror of being caught and the excitement of how he would get away with it. The grip loosened and Izaya yanked out his arm and finished placing the pillows inside their cases and stood up to face the other man. 

Izaya only realised how much taller he was once he had his neck tilted up, but still he held eye contact with the blonde. He stared at the deep frown that was plastered on his face.

‘He really does look stupid…’ thought Izaya, struggling to not curl his lip in disgust. 

He took in the black suit and the formal trousers and pointed black shoes with the crisp white shirt underneath. This must be the bodyguard of the Pope, otherwise he was a bartender very far away from where he was supposed to be…

The taller man broke his glare with a low growl, and stomped over to the polished desk where he set a black bag down and unzipped it, removing several sets of white robes and hanging them up in the cupboard, smoothing down each one as he did so. He then placed four matching pairs of red leather shoes underneath each set of white robes and a pair of white socks in each of them. Izaya watched carefully how the muscles in the other man’s back rippled as he bent down to place the shoes and socks, how his calves and thighs bulged against the trousers.

‘ _ He could rip me in two without even breaking a sweat…’ _ Izaya thought, shuddering.

He suddenly became acutely aware that a drop of saliva had landed on his own black robes and that he had been drooling. He wiped it away, a flush breaking out across his face as the man turned back around.

‘Stand back, I need to check under the bed.’ 

Izaya jumped back and perched on the window sill, staring in surprise as the man in black lifted the entire double bed with one arm, holding it up whilst scanning the empty carpeted floor. Satisfied, he replaced it where it was and looked at Izaya, his chiselled face wrinkling. 

‘What’s your name then?’

Izaya was a little taken aback by the blunt tone, but all the same he lied perfectly. 

‘Ackerman.’ 

He couldn’t have the bodyguard of the Pope know his real name, especially if he was going to kill him.

‘Nice name… Doesn’t suit you though…’ the blonde seemed to be thinking it over.

‘And you are?’

‘You what?’

The other man instantly took on a defensive stance as Izaya hopped down from the window sill.

‘Usually when two people first meet, they exchange names. I’ve told you mine, now what’s yours?’ He sauntered closer to the blonde, lacing his hands together under the wide sleeves of his robes.

‘Oh..umm.. Heiwajima Shizuo.’ He took a step back, a dusty pink across his nose. 

Izaya was surprised by the name. It wasn’t Italian that was for sure. 

The two men gazed inquisitively at each other in silence, a strange feeling building in the pit of Izaya’s stomach as he looked into those dark eyes...

_ DRRINGGG! DRRINGGG! _

Shizuo jumped at the clanging of the bell, signalling supper and Izaya flicked up his hood to hide the burning in his cheeks as he walked out of the room, the footsteps of the Bodyguard lagging a bit behind him as they made their way to the refectory.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which dust is spread, clothes are torn and a strange task is requested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry if my update schedule is not very organised BUT I hope you like this even a little bit even though I know the concept is really odd and a little Out Of Context. Yes I have changed Ikebukuro to Milan but Tokyo and Milan are very similar so it works I promise!?!
> 
> There are some smut scenes later so you have been warned (not in this chapter i'm sorry!) but yeah thanks so much if you're even just reading this because it means a great deal xx

Izaya felt the uncomfortable silence between them as he led the way down the stone steps, each foot causing an echo of sound to ricochet across the empty cloisters, only made twice as loud by the heavy foot-steps of his company. It was getting annoying; with each step more flat footed than the last and then a shuffle as he heard the tall bodyguard drag his feet.

‘You could pick your feet up, you know…’ Izaya sighed, as he whipped around to face Shizuo in the square in the middle. The taller man narrowed his eyes looking down at Izaya with disgust, as if he wanted to slap him round the face but decided against it and instead opted to simply glance to the side and grumble under his breath. 

Izaya flashed him back a winning smile and proceeded to walk over to the heavy door to the refectory. 

*

‘Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen’ The Pope spoke out from his position at the head of the table to the entire room blessing the food that was laid out before them under the soft glow of the oil lamps, suspended from the thick wooden beams across the ceiling. 

The Cardinal and the monks all chorused back with ‘Amen’ before the room fell quiet as the sound of food being piled onto plates was made by all of the monks gathered around the long wooden table, with the Cardinal Lucas at one end and the Pope at the other: Shizuo on his immediate right.

Izaya wasn’t used to so much food: after all, the monks followed a simple diet of bread and local fruit but now his plate was piled high with various meats and fatty fish, that made his mouth water just by looking at it. 

He snuck a glance up the table and over to Shizuo. He was eating fast, shoving forkful upon forkful of meat into his mouth like his life depended on it. The monk smiled a little at this and leant on his hand, elbow on the table to watch. Using his peripheral vision, however, Izaya noticed that the Pope himself wasn’t eating and was instead watching him with an inquisitive look on his face, calm and kind yet aware at the same time. 

He quickly turned back to focus on eating, his hand cluttering against his fork as he did so, his face a sheath of calm on the surface, but underneath, Orihara Izaya was flustered. He thought about the warm brown eyes of the old man sat at the head of the table and somehow, he got the feeling that he could read Izaya’s thoughts… 

‘Too bad… the Pope won’t be around any longer for me to study him further…’ He thought, a pang of annoyance that the plan with the poison had been intercepted by Mr Men in Black with the purple sunglasses sat further away from him up the tab-

Suddenly, everything happened at once.

The beam directly above the Pope’s chair dislodged itself from its place across the ceiling, the roof attached to the top of it coming loose. Dust rained down from above, and the Cardinal and most of the monks watched in horror as it fell down and down towards the Pope, who sat stock still in his chair, eyes wide open as he waited for the impact.

Shizuo moved.

In a blur of black and white, Izaya watched in amazement as the bodyguard pushed the chair away with the supreme pontiff still inside it so that he went flying across to the other end of the refectory, a pile of white robes on the floor. But all eyes were on Shizuo as he bent down so that his back laid flat, his arms bent behind him and  _ caught _ the massive beam and the ceiling attached above it neatly behind him. 

The dust was falling everywhere and Izaya closed his eyes to prevent any shards of plaster entering. When he felt it settle, he finally reopened them, he was met with the most intense vision he’d ever seen.

Shizuo’s shirt had been torn by the wood, leaving patches of bare chest exposed and cut with splinters, his hair was caked in dust and his glasses lay broken on the floor beside him. His forehead was screwed up in tension as he held the heavy beam across his back like Atlas holding up the world. 

‘Father!’ 

The worried shout of Cardinal Lucas brought Izaya back to the present as he tore his eyes away from the bodyguard to behind him, where several monks and the Cardinal were helping the Pope up from his position on the floor. He looked a little bewildered but seemed to be completely unharmed none-the less. 

‘HHHHHHHHHHHHEEEEEEYAAAAAAA!!’

There was a deafening groan followed by a thud as the beam and ceiling slid off on Shizuo’s broad back and onto the floor behind him. He was left panting, but still he broke into a run: his tattered clothes streaked in blood, flying to the other end of the table to attend to the Pope, but was pushed away by a firm hand on his shoulder.

‘I am quite alright, Shizuo.’ The Pope smiled kindly and turned to the Cardinal. ‘Come Lucas, it is the sunset hour, we must reflect, must we not?.’

The Cardinal was dazed as he staggered after the serene figure of the Pope, followed by the thirty monks away from the mess and out of the double doors to the courtyard, where the familiar orange glow was beginning to align with the arches of the Western cloisters. 

Izaya couldn’t concentrate as per usual whilst doused in the amber light.

He was too busy staring at the way the sun framed the rugged Bodyguard’s face, creating a halo-of-sorts around him. His intense brown eyes glazed over in tranquility at the sight of the setting sun. Izaya felt a sort of pride within him, like it was  _ his _ sun and he was the one choosing to allow Shizuo to see it. Hard to believe in the moment of softness that only minutes earlier he had held such a weight upon his back...

_ ‘Who are you, Hewajima Shizuo? And how does the Pope have a monster for a bodyguard?’ _

*

Shizuo winced as the small hooded monk next to him plucked the last of the splinters out of his chest and applied antiseptic to it. His back didn’t hurt at all but all the tiny cuts together felt as if he was being stung over and over again.

He thanked the monk and took the remains of his blood stained shirt in one hand and made his way out into the courtyard where the stairs were to go up to the second floor, where his bedroom lay adjacent to the Pope’s.

It was smaller but he too had a double bed with a soft mattress and duvet, though his was not gold like the other’s. Shizuo tossed the remains of his shirt onto the bed and took another from his closet where many identical shirts were hanging, before going over to the Paupal bedroom next door. 

He knocked twice.

‘Come in.’ the familiar soft voice called. Shizuo instantly relaxed as he swung open the door and saw the Pope knelt beside the window sill where earlier-

Shizuo tensed as he remembered the soft curves of the monk that had been making up the bedroom had been sat, his eyes laughing, his face holding the kind of beauty that Shizuo had only seen before in paintings. 

‘Shizuo.’

His attention was brought back to the present as he knelt beside the praying figure in front of him. 

‘Father?’ He responded, knowing something was about to be asked of him.

‘I can’t thank you enough for saving my life, as always you are a miracle. However we must move swiftly on from this incident. I have a person, a monk here in the Mater Ecclesiae that I would like you to keep an eye on.’ From seemingly nowhere, the Pope produced a photograph of a handsome looking man with his ears pierced, dark eyeliner around his eyes and his black hair gelled and spiked in all sorts of directions as he posed against a mural, a can of spray paint in his hand, his face laughing. The picture was blurry as it was obviously taken in the dark with the flash of a phone, but Shizuo’s breathed hitched. It was unmistakably the laughing monk from earlier. 

‘His name is Orihara Izaya. I have been aware of his presence in this monastery for quite sometime now and to be honest I haven’t the faintest idea why he is here, especially in his line of work....’ The Pope trailed off as Shizuo stared at the photo, entranced by those red eyes. ‘Anyway, I need you to keep a close eye on him for me.’ he continued, before stuffing the photograph back into his robes somewhere. 

‘Of course, holy Father.’ Shizuo tried not to give anything away. He thought about telling the Pope about the encounter he had had with the monk in question but somehow it felt too personal, too sensual to be anything but private. He shook his head to clear the thought away.

‘You must be exhausted, Shizuo, you should rest.’ The Pope rose slowly and offered a hand to Shizuo who took it and pretended to use it to get up but knew if he actually did that, the other’s hand would be broken clean off.

_ ‘Curse this monster strength…’ _

He bid goodnight and darted back into his own room where he knew he was in for a long night.

‘Izaya, what a fitting name for a monk.’ Shizuo thought, but he knew that this monk was nothing like the devoted Biblical figure at all.

‘Besides, he gave me a fake name so I know at least he was up to  _ something _ …’ 

The bodyguard quickly stripped himself of all clothing and collapsed into the soft mattress, pulling the duvet snugly around him and willed sleep to come but as usual, it never did..


End file.
